My one meeting with Groucho Marx

Updated 12:19 pm, Friday, July 18, 2014

(07-18) 12:17 PDT SAN FRANCISCO -- I've told this story before, but I emphasized different things, so this is a whole new column, except where it's not. You probably don't remember the first column anyway. So here it is for the first time, almost: the tale of how I met Groucho Marx.

I called Groucho's phone at his house in Beverly Hills. I spoke to the man himself; he was not protected by armies of public relations professionals. I said I was a writer for Esquire magazine.

That was narrowly true; I had written for Esquire. It's just that I had not told Esquire about this interview. So I needed to get in the door. Yes, I was media scum - you may have heard tales about my kind of person. But I swear, that's the only time I did it.

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But I was in the process of helping start a magazine called Flash. It would be an arts and culture and politics magazine. I thought maybe a Groucho interview would be a coup for Flash. Publicity! Sales!

We were to meet him at the Bistro, a celebrity-drenched restaurant in Beverly Hills. We had no money for an overnight stay, no money for planes. So we (writer Michael Goodwin, photographer Robert Altman and I) set off by car at 3 in the morning, determined to make it to Beverly Hills, do the interview, and drive back. Yow.

We encountered tule fog. I was driving because it was my car. I couldn't see 20 feet ahead of me, but I was going 60 miles an hour because everyone else was going 60 miles an hour. Slow your car and die, is what I figured. Unless there was an accident up ahead, in which case we were all toast anyway.

Somehow we made it to the Bistro. They knew we were coming. Groucho had reserved an upstairs room so we could have quiet. But alas, I wasn't wearing a tie. No problem: They had ties on hand. I put it on over my turtleneck. I looked like someone in a vaudeville sketch - perfect for meeting Groucho.

After a short time, Groucho came into the room. He did not remark on my appearance, but he remarked on pretty much everything else. He didn't make jokes, although he did tell funny stories. He was a little wizened, a little frail, but that did not matter at all. He had opinions and he wanted to share them.

If you got him going on something, he would talk for 10 minutes straight. The answers often veered into anecdotes, including a few mildly salacious ones. He poked some fun at us too, but we were enraptured. It was an honor to be mocked.

He stayed for a long time. He clearly liked the attention, and he liked a lot of the questions. He didn't want to be a pal, but he wanted to tell us stuff.

The interview ended. I surrendered my tie (Groucho gave the owner a hard time about the rule, said it was ridiculous), and we drove back home to the Bay Area. I called Esquire about the interview, but they were not interested. It was only a feint anyway; the interview had always been destined for Flash.

The first issue of Flash came out, and it was met by a deafening lack of public acclaim. We printed a thousand copies, I think. We hoped that tastemakers would somehow take it up or that backers would see the wisdom of an investment in us. None of that happened. We lost our money.

The magazine is now so rare it isn't even a collector's item. Googling "Flash magazine" turns up a bunch of websites about guns. If it's not on Google, it doesn't exist.

Anyway, one of the things Groucho said in the interview was, "The only hope for the country is Nixon's assassination." It was an intemperate thing to say, but he was an intemperate man. There was a divide in the country, and Groucho was clear which side he was on.

The interview was reprinted in a Canadian film magazine. A U.S. attorney named James L. Browning somehow found that quote. Perhaps it was pointed out to him by a troublemaker. He held a news conference and threatened to indict Groucho for treason. It made the papers. No mention of Flash, alas.

A reporter called Groucho up and asked him about the quote. "I didn't say that," he said. "I never tell the truth."

Perfect absurdist reasoning, the best non-denial denial ever. I do wish there'd been a trial; Groucho on the stand would have been great. But the whole matter was quietly dropped. Very soon afterward, Groucho started touring a one-man show, telling a lot of the same stories he told us. I don't believe he mentioned Nixon.

"In that direction," the Cat said, waving its right paw round, "lives a Hatter, and in that direction," waving jcarroll@sfchronicle.com.

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